Limitless Pitch

The whistle cut through the air like a blade, ending the first half. Dortmund jogged off the pitch with shoulders heavy and jaws tight, boots thudding against the tunnel floor. In the stands above, the Udinese fans were on their feet, flags waving, voices swelling in triumph. Even at 1–0 on the night, they could feel it — the Italians were frustrating Dortmund into a corner.

Thiago kept his head down as he trailed behind Kuba and Sahin into the dressing room. He wasn't in the eleven tonight, so the chill in the air wasn't from exhaustion but from the way the match was slipping away, minute by minute. He'd felt it on the bench — that slow build of frustration, the impatience in every misplaced pass.

The dressing room door shut, and the noise of the stadium dulled into a low hum. Klopp stood in the middle, hands on his hips, his face set in something halfway between a glare and a smirk.

"Sit," he barked.

The players did. A few kept their eyes on the floor, others reached for water bottles, some rubbed sweat from their foreheads with towels. No one said a word.

Klopp paced once across the front, his boots squeaking faintly on the tile. Then, he exploded.

"This," he said, stabbing a finger toward the tactics board, "is not football. This is waiting to lose."

Heads lifted. His voice wasn't loud for the sake of it — it was cutting, every word aimed at the ribs.

"You think Udinese came here to outplay us? No. They came here to choke us. And right now, you're letting them."

Barrios sat with elbows on knees, staring back at Klopp with a clenched jaw. Sahin was frowning, shaking his head slightly. Sven Bender's brow was furrowed like he was already replaying every defensive lapse in his mind.

Klopp stepped closer to the board and drew two long arrows with the marker. "We move the ball too slow here—" tap "—and here—" tap. "One touch, one pass, gone. They're back in shape before we've even looked forward. You want goals? Then make them chase you. You want to win? Then fucking play like it."

He paused, looking at each player in turn. "You cannot let them dictate this. If we lose this match, I can accept it if we die fighting. But I will not accept us dying while standing still."

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Then he switched — the tone shifted.

"I know what you can do. I know this team can run harder, think quicker, and fight smarter than this. Sahin, control it. Don't force the ball into their block, wait for them to bite, then kill them with it. Kuba, when the ball's on your side, I want you stretching them until their legs burn. Barrios, stop running into the same channel. Make them guess where to cover."

He clapped his hands so hard the sound made a few players flinch. "And listen, you score one goal here, you break them. One goal, and this whole stadium turns on itself. But you have to want it more than they want to keep it."

Silence. Then, as if on cue, a low murmur of "Ja"s and "Come on"s rose from the benches. A couple of players straightened their backs. Barrios nodded once, slow and sharp.

Klopp smiled faintly, the kind of smile that said now we start.

The referee's assistant knocked on the door, signalling two minutes left. Klopp's voice rose again. "Out there, you decide if you want another European night or if you want to watch them have it. You choose now."

They stood. Boots thumped. Shin pads were adjusted, tape tightened, water gulped. Thiago leaned forward on the bench, feeling that same fire even though his name hadn't been called yet.

Out in the tunnel, the air was cooler but thick with anticipation. The Udinese players were already lined up, some smirking, others stone-faced.

The whistle went, and the second half began.

Right from kickoff, Dortmund looked different. The ball zipped faster — one touch, then gone. Sahin spread play to the left, Sven overlapped Kuba, forcing Udinese's right-back to retreat. The Italians still pressed, but the tempo was sharper, and the away fans in one corner of the stadium found their voice again.

A chance came in the 48th minute — Kuba drove to the byline, whipped in a cross. Barrios threw himself at it but missed by inches, the ball skidding past the far post.

Udinese, however, were dangerous on the break. Their number 10 drifted into pockets of space, drawing Subotić and Hummels out. One long diagonal split Dortmund's defensive line, forcing Weidenfeller to rush out and smother a through ball.

Then, in the 54th minute, disaster struck. Sahin, under pressure in midfield, tried to slip a pass between two pressing players — it was intercepted. Udinese broke instantly, two quick passes slicing through the middle. Their striker received it just inside the box, feinted, and drew a clumsy challenge from Subotić.

The whistle blew. The referee pointed to the spot.

The home crowd erupted. The Udinese players surrounded the spot, shielding the penalty taker as he placed the ball down.

Thiago sat forward on the bench, eyes locked on the penalty taker. Weidenfeller bounced on his line, trying to read the run-up.

The striker took three steps and sent it low into the bottom left corner. Weidenfeller guessed right but couldn't reach it.

2–0 on aggregate.

The stadium shook with noise. White shirts swarmed the scorer, the home fans waving scarves and flags in a frenzy.

Thiago exhaled slowly. This was bad — really bad. Dortmund now needed two goals just to stay alive.

Then he heard it. Klopp's voice, sharp over the chaos.

"Mario! Thiago! Warm up!"

Both he and Götze popped up instantly, jogging toward the sideline. The camera swung toward them, catching the moment, the commentators remarking about "two young game-changers getting ready."

Thiago could feel the blood rushing in his ears. This was it